


I Have No Time for Trifles

by Violsva



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Roleplay Fail, Smut and Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10026974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: Prompt: This wasn't on the list.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Come At Once](http://come-at-once.livejournal.com/166150.html) to a prompt by [Kestrel337](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrel337/pseuds/Kestrel337).

Holmes and I had been sharing a bed for less than a week, and were still inclined to take advantage of every opportunity. As soon as our supper dishes had been taken away and we could expect that Mrs. Hudson would not interrupt us again that evening, Holmes bent over my chair to kiss me and I pulled him into my lap.

Some minutes later he pulled away and stood up, rubbing his neck. “Bed?” he asked. I reached for his trouser front, now at a most convenient height, and he made a lovely low noise in his throat and pulled me to my feet.

We did not go any further for some time, except for him to press me against the bookshelf as he kissed my neck. His teeth tugged at my earlobe as he started undoing my tie, and I set upon his waistcoat buttons.

When he had stripped me of several layers and I was considering the virtues of the hearthrug, he pulled away again. I groaned and tugged him back, and our hips met for a few blissful seconds. “Bed,” he said firmly, stepping away from me. “Watson, we haven’t even locked the door.”

I sighed and shifted so I was not leaning against the bookcase. My legs were mostly still working. Holmes offered me his hand, not without a hint of smugness. One would never have thought he would be nearly as proud of his abilities in this area as in his work.

In my room we disrobed quickly and fell onto the bed. For a while we just rolled together, occasionally thrusting when our hips found some enjoyable arrangement, and kissing until my lips tingled. At last, however, Holmes settled on top of me and planted his elbows on the mattress to hold me in place. I didn’t mind; on another night I might have wrestled him, but I had no particular plans and I was happy to let him delve into my mouth and then head downward.

He spent some time on my nipples—more than I would have liked, for they were sensitive enough that his attentions were a cruel tease, and he knew it. At last he acceded to my requests—nearly begging by then—and moved lower. His mouth lingered at my iliac furrows, then closed around my prick, and I groaned and let my head fall back. He was brilliant at this; I truly would not have thought it of him when I first met him, and believed him to be almost mechanical.

A thought occurred to me. I did my best to stifle it, but I couldn’t help it: I snickered.

The wonderful sensations between my legs ceased. “What?” asked Sherlock Holmes, clearly offended.

“Nothing,” I said. He frowned still more fiercely. “It really doesn’t matter, Holmes, it’s nothing to do with you.” That got me a scornfully raised eyebrow.

“All right,” I conceded. “When I had just moved in, and was still getting to know you—you remember, I wrote about it in _A Study in Scarlet_ —I made a list of your accomplishments, and I was just thinking that at the time, I didn’t know that—” He was well ahead of me, and I was glad to see that the lines on his face indicated that he too was trying not to laugh. “—I should have added something along the lines of, _Knowledge of Sodomy — Profound_.”

At this point Holmes’ notable self-command failed him, and his head dropped with a snort of laughter.

“Is that an invitation to explore your depths?” he asked, rendering both of us still more incapable of doing anything of the sort.

“Admittedly, even if I had known that at the time I couldn’t have published it.”

“Except perhaps by certain specialized presses,” he agreed, his voice strained. “Nor would it have helped you guess at my profession.”

“I might indeed have been entirely led astray.”

“It is, alas, of no use to a consulting detective. Or,” he added thoughtfully, “it might be, if I had fewer scruples...” I choked.

“How might I convince you to provide me with information?” I imitated his most patrician tones. He shoved my shoulder as he lay next to me, and we giggled unbecomingly for some time.

“Where were we?” he asked, when we had calmed some.

“You were somewhere around here,” I said, guiding his head. “Where did you learn it?”

“Do you want me to suck you or do you want me to explain?” he asked. “I can’t do both.” He decided for me, however, and I was not going to complain, though it took some effort to stop myself from thinking of further digressions upon the theme.

But Holmes, probably deliberately, was making his most determined efforts to be distracting. I grabbed a second pillow to shove under my head so I could watch him. He was beautiful from above, with his mouth open for me and his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet mine. He was looking at me when he reached to hold my bollocks in the palm of his hand, his fingers stroking behind. I spread my legs further and let him, clutching the sheets.

It was not too much longer when I—and no doubt he as well—felt myself drawing up towards climax, and he paused an excruciating moment to lick his fingers before returning them to me. “Holmes,” I gasped, and he slipped one into me and took me deeper and I tried desperately to hold back and make the pleasure stretch out longer.

When I lay panting after my orgasm Holmes moved so his head was level with mine. He appeared only a little affected by his arousal, though I had realized by now that giving pleasure in this manner excited him greatly. I reached for his cock, and he gently knocked my hand away. “In a minute,” he said. “I want something specific from you.”

At his words all the remarks I had been suppressing thoughts of suddenly appeared again in my mind. “Does it involve your pretending to be a consulting detective without scruples?”

“Oh lord, no, Watson.” He covered his face with a hand. “Don’t start that again.”

I put on a dreadful Cockney accent. “’Ow migh’ we stop the authorities from ’earin’ ov this, eh?”

“No.” He was holding back chuckles.

“I’m sure there’s sumfink would make it worth yer while ter forget you ever seen me ’ere.”

“Dammit, Watson, I was hoping to come tonight.”

I relented. “What did you want?”

“To stop your mouth,” he said, kissing it deeply. His tongue still tasted of me, but I held him close and kissed him back as well as I knew how. When he pulled away his eyes were dark and he was panting again. “Fine though it is,” he added, drawing a finger over my lower lip. “Hold still.”

He climbed up so he was sitting on my chest, the tip of his prick tapping against my lips. I licked it, and he hummed and leaned forward, bracing himself with a hand over my head, pressing his prick inexorably into my mouth.

There was not much for me to do in this position, except remember to breathe. I could hear him, though; I could hear his breathing grow harsher as he exerted himself, and hear the little moans that slipped out as he came closer to the edge. I stimulated his head as much I could as he thrust into me, keeping my mouth relaxed and my tongue on him, playing with the frenulum when I could reach it. At last he thrust right to the back of my throat, and held there for a long moment.

He took a little longer than I would have liked to pull away, and finally I shoved at his stomach and he clambered off me. He slumped ungracefully to the pillows, and I was caught for a moment by the unfamiliar pleasure of seeing him like this, unguarded, being allowed behind the mask after fifteen years of wondering what was there. He stretched out, and I swallowed the last of his spendings and watched him return to himself and cover his face with the thinnest of illusions. We had not yet spoken of it, but our fierce passion for each other was not merely about lust, and I hungered for the sight of him like this more than I did for his body.

“Good?” I asked, finding myself hoarse and grinning at him.

He considered for a moment, as if he truly wasn’t sure. “I’ll put in a good word for you with the Inspector, but I can’t promise anything more.”

I blinked at him, then slapped my hands over my eyes and groaned—it wasn’t as though I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t need to look at him to know that he was smirking.


End file.
